


Moving

by vanecek



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Comfort/Romance, Hurt, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-10
Updated: 2011-03-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 08:39:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanecek/pseuds/vanecek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A box is dropped at his bedroom doorway; the last of them, for now. Nero's things are finally almost completely packed. He'd announced that he was looking for a place to stay a little over a month ago, and that he'd found a place about a week ago, but put off actually doing any work for it ever since. In fact, all of it had been done this morning in a rush. Today is moving day.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Moving

**Author's Note:**

> A box is dropped at his bedroom doorway; the last of them, for now. Nero's things are finally almost completely packed. He'd announced that he was looking for a place to stay a little over a month ago, and that he'd found a place about a week ago, but put off actually doing any work for it ever since. In fact, all of it had been done this morning in a rush. Today is moving day.

A box is dropped at his bedroom doorway; the last of them, for now. Nero's things are finally almost completely packed. He'd announced that he was looking for a place to stay a little over a month ago, and that he'd found a place about a week ago, but put off actually doing any work for it ever since. In fact, all of it had been done this morning in a rush. Today is moving day.

The town he's picked is not too close, yet not too far from the Devil May Cry shop. Far enough to not visit everyday, but close enough to be able to visit. He expected he would, as he barely knew anyone else and wasn't the greatest at making friends. The spot he'd chosen wasn't too far from a ferry to Fortuna, and so, he'd covered all grounds, old and new. Nero couldn't say the most exciting thing he'd ever thought of would be living alone, but he felt that by now he _should_ have grown out of living under someone else's house, and took it upon himself to correct that. He also felt a little guilty about living as a freeloader, and though he could help pay rent, it just didn't seem like the right decision.

Nero brushes his hands off on his shorts, feeling a warmth and sweat from all the busywork. He'd shower soon if it didn't only make him feel even more awkward about moving out on the same day. He had made an agreement with Dante to stay for dinner, in exchange for being allowed to leave a small amount of cash (what he could muster up and still be able to pay his own rent and groceries). Dante didn't accept money from him well.

And Nero didn't understand that—Dante would take money from anyone else, anyday, _anyone—_ but when he had brought up the subject of helping pay for things, Dante had instantly retorted back a very final-sounding "No." And that was it. Nero tried arguing, but it was no use; Dante only said "No" over and over again in the same tone, each time becoming harsher. By Nero's last argument, he was too scared to even think of coming up with more.

"Hey, kid," says that familiar voice, fortunately for Nero, a lot calmer, "I'm heading out for awhile. I'll be back as soon as I can." Dante was at his doorway, all dressed in his usual hunter attire, weapons all ready.

"Mission?" asks Nero.

"Yeah, just got the call," says Dante, "it sounds pretty easy." Nero knows he added the last part to prevent him from begging to tag along. Dante knows him too well. Nero's accompanied him to almost every mission since moving in, and another one would be no different.

He had no choice but to accept his loss before the fight had even begun; Nero simply nodded in acknowledgement and tried to forget the fact that they were surrounded by evidence that, soon, Dante would be back by himself at the shop. Lady and Trish were only so much company, and only stopped by every so often. Damn, thought Nero, I'm feeling guilty, I'll really have to come back to visit that sad bastard.

"Don't die," instructs Nero, with a smirk. "I don't feel like inheriting this dump of a shop, and all your debt."

"Who says you're in my will?"

"Me."

Dante grins at that, saluting Nero one last time before turning to leave.

Nero had to kill time. He hadn't finished packing his things, just in case. All that was left were his necessities and a second outfit, in case he would have to stay another day for whatever reason; better safe than sorry. He began by trying to entertain himself with silly things like armwrestling against himself and kicking around a rock he'd found. Sad things. He didn't realise how little there was to do at the shop alone.

As hours passed, and dinnertime rolled around, he assumed Dante was just going to be late. Since Dante had promised he wouldn't order pizza, Nero didn't see the harm in just cooking dinner. Dante said he would be back soon, he said the mission would be easy, so surely he would be back by the time Nero was done making it. And it would be a pleasant surprise, and it would save him a couple extra dollars. A complete win-win situation, except that Dante would definitely insult him for acting like a woman.

Nero might miss those. So it would be worth it. He sifted through Dante's sad excuse for a kitchen and mustered up what he could, turning it into some sort of chicken dinner. He was honestly surprised Dante even _had_ chicken, or at least that it hadn't gone bad by the time Nero found it.

However, even by the time dinner was done, and even after Nero waited, and after he gave up and wrapped up the food and stored it away, Dante was still gone. No sign of him, nothing. Nero suddenly wished he had a way to reach Lady or Trish. Admittedly, he was beginning to worry about the dumb guy.

Worry. He worried a lot. He paced around the shop, although he didn't realise it himself. He sat in the couch, wondered where the asshole was, and would walk to Dante's chair and sit in it and wonder where he was, and wander into the kitchen to nervously snack on something whilst wondering where he was. Fuck. The guy just didn't leave his mind. Nero was going to kill him when he got home.

If something hadn't already, anyway. But he was at least confident in that—Dante wouldn't die. He was too tough for that. Nero knew it. Nero was more concerned in hearing the explanation than he was in any other aspect. Dante wasn't a kid. Dante would handle himself. Nero knew that. He knew it. He told himself repeatedly how much he knew it and how certain he was.

* * *

The sound of the door opening was by no means handled silently, to save waking up those inside, nor was it loud enough to wake up the kid sleeping in Dante's office chair. Dante walks in, the sky and the shop pitch black, leaving him to navigate the place from memory and what little shine the moon gave. He made his way to the desk, not limping but certainly not walking with his usual manly pride. His guns were dropped, hitting the desk with a _clang_ and causing Nero to wake up instantaneously with a jump.

"What the fuck? You scared the shit out of me! Don't do that!" Nero yells at him, his instant reaction. He prepares to start again, but the sound in his throat quickly dying off when his eyes adjust to get a decent look at Dante.

He's in bad shape. His clothes are all scratched and torn and there's blood all over them, black; his face looks intact save for a few scratches. Nero wonders if they are really scratches, or if they have just been healed into scratches. How worse were they before he got here?

"Dante," says Nero, his brain wracked and he wasn't sure how to make a sentence for a moment. "What happened to you...?"

But there is no answer. It's not that Dante can't talk, or he doesn't _want_ to talk, he just—alright, he doesn't want to. Not to purposely hold back information from Nero, not at all. Dante just doesn't want to talk. He wants silence. All the silence in the word, for just a little.

Nero is instantly at his side, firstly removing the rest of Dante's weapons and extra baggage. He leaves them all at the desk, leaving Dante's side only for a second to quickly shut and lock the door, and then returning to tend to him more. He grants Dante his wish for silence and wordlessly offers out his arm, helping Dante to hold himself up and leading him up the stairs. Nero takes them slowly, stepping up one and then assisting Dante with it. The guy isn't completely incapable to walk, but it's obviously not the easiest thing for him to do right now, and Nero isn't about to skim on anything he can do at the moment.

"I made dinner," he offers, saying it rhetorically—he doesn't expect nor does he really want Dante to answer yet. "I saved it, so you can have some later. It's not unhealthy, or greasy enough for your usual tastes, but I promise it tastes good."

And Dante doesn't reply, but he is listening, and understanding. They make it to the top of the steps and Nero leads Dante into the bathroom, through all the darkness. He manages to flip the switch in there and almost wishes he hadn't, because Dante looks like shit. Horrible. How'd it go so wrong?

"Stand still and cooperate with me," Nero instructs, turning the shower water on warm and letting it run and warm up the bathroom. He undoes Dante's jacket and shirt gently, doing his best to not touch a wound or a scratch or anything that looks like it would hurt. Which is almost everything, but with care, he slides off the sleeves and gets them off as painlessly as possible.

Should he be bandaging them up instead, Nero isn't sure. He's never been smart about that kind of thing, as a kid, he'd always just toughed it out and waited for things to heal. Even now, he pretends they don't exist. Somehow he doesn't feel like that's how he should be handling now, but what else could he do? He hopes the shower will do some good.

He makes it as least awkward as possible as he works at Dante's pants, undoing them and pulling them down as slow as he did the shirts, trying to avoid the painful friction of leather on skin. Dante doesn't do much. He doesn't have much energy. He almost doesn't have the will. Nero has to help him into the shower and sit him down on a ledge, forgetting that he's in his pyjamas and currently being soaked by the water as he focuses on aiming the shower head so it doesn't spray too little or too much, so that Dante seems comfortable, so that it doesn't have to be weird.

Nero can see Dante's facial expressions as he washes him, sometimes blank, sometimes wincing, and can almost feel his pain. Nero feels bad, so bad. The touch of the washcloth is light as can be while still rubbing off the dirt and dried up blood, washing all around Dante's wounds and making sure soap doesn't get in them and make it hurt worse.

Once he thinks he's done a decent job, he turns off the water, quickly fetching a towel. Dante stands up on his own and Nero hands it to him in the entryway of the shower, hoping Dante will dry himself off while he finds clothes for him. Clothes that aren't made of leather. There are few.

"It's warm in here, so don't leave," insists Nero, handing Dante a second towel after the first is around his waist. "I'm just going to get clothes, so I won't be long, alright?"

He's making eye contact to check for any sign of acknowledgement from Dante. Before he can comprehend, the space between them is closing; Dante is leaning in towards him, and all he can think is _shit, he's gone nuts,_ until he feels Dante's skin on him, touching him, and him pressing his mouth to Nero's. Nero cannot think about this, he doesn't have the capacity to truly believe it's happening—he thinks he might have, as a reaction, kissed back, but he's really, really, not sure. As they part, Dante's facial expression seems the same, but yet, somehow, he seems a bit more calmed.

Nero says nothing, he just quickly exits the bathroom and rushes to Dante's dresser to find clothes. For the both of them, since his are now soaked. Boxers and sweats are easy to locate, though some basic cotton shirts are harder to locate than he'd imagine. Or, not, since it is Dante, after all. But he finds them. Nero changes his clothes, hurrying.

"Here, I'll help," Nero says as he enters the bathroom again, shutting the door hastily so the cold air can't seep in. "Just, uh...yeah." He gets Dante's clothes on, this time with more help from Dante himself. He's a little more animated than before, although still undeniably beaten up. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Dante leans on him again, for support. He's able to walk himself, but he likes Nero being there. "Fine," he responds, voice raspy and a bit out of breath. Nero's mood is a bit uplifted just by hearing him talk.

"Just lay down, okay?" Nero leads Dante to his room, pulling back the blankets for him and everything. He leaves Dante to get himself to bed, figuring with something like that it would be more convenient to do it himself, using the time to clean up in the bathroom and make sure everything else is alright.

He returns to Dante's bedside, standing by him.

"Do you need anything, or are you hungry? Anything?"

"I'm alright," says Dante, grinning, slowly, so slowly, doing little things to make Nero's mood improve and make his brain stop working so quickly.

Nero comes to sit in the empty spot of the bed next to Dante. He refuses to get under the covers and lay down, it just seems too personal, but leaving doesn't sound too pleasant either. Dante rolls a little to face the opposite side, which does wonders for the awkwardness of the situation. Nero waits, sitting until he hears a low snore come from Dante, and finally, he feels relief. At some point he becomes too tired to sit up anymore, and still not feeling well on leaving Dante alone, he crawls underneath the comforter and manages to fall asleep.

* * *

Nero wakes first; the rising sun always triggering his mind it's time to get out of bed, even on days like these. Dante is still fast asleep, as he should be. Nero can both avoid it being known that they slept in the same bed and know that the man's getting the rest he needs. He spends awhile cleaning up the shop, cleaning off Dante's desk, and cleaning up the kitchen. There's not a wide range of choices for entertainment, and, well, a good clean does wonders around this place.

Once that's all done, Nero notices it's past noon and decides it's a safe time to make breakfast for lunch. He's been hoping that Dante would wake up before he would finish, but as usual, is mistaken, and left with the humiliating decision to bring his breakfast to him. Nero doesn't want to have to wake him up without a reason—and certainly doesn't want to make him come downstairs to get it—so there's no way out. He feels like Dante is probably going to be back to his mentality and personality, the same cocky asshole, but not so much physically.

And Nero cannot think of a worse spot to be put in. He'll never get to live it down, ever. As a second thought he wonders if he can get away with just leaving the plate and waking Dante up by _other_ means. He sneaks up the stairs and into Dante's room, putting the plate on Dante's nightstand in what seems like slow motion, trying to avoid any sounds at all, sliding the plate. Carefully. As if his life depends on it.

He would've been dead.

Dante's eyes flicker open and his arm reaches out to grab Nero's as soon as he's set the plate down, keeping him in spot long enough to realise he's screwed and for Dante's eyes to adjust to the new light.

"Breakfast in bed?"

"Don't even," mutters Nero. He knew it. He fucking knew it. Dante just gives him one of his famous shit-eating grins. "Now, seriously, you _old man_ , how is...everything?"

"Sore," answers Dante, sitting up, picking up the plate of eggs and hashbrowns. Nero can at least see that up Dante's arms and around his neck, the places that were bleeding and in bad shape last night have turned into what look like cat scratches. The marks on his face are completely gone.

Dante's still got a hold on him, damnit.


End file.
